Broken and Beautiful

by Ryan, Kendall

  “I can find a good fuck in the next five minutes.”

  “By all means.” I gestured down the road, shrugging like I didn’t care. And I didn’t. Well, the thought of him with another woman made me want to vomit, but I wasn’t interested in someone who thought I was disposable.

  Daniel cupped my cheeks, his eyes piercing mine. His breath warmed my face, our noses almost touching. I inhaled his scent, something masculine and all him, which both settled me and sent me into a frenzy.

  Without warning, his lips met mine with a tenderness that was unexpected, yet there was no mistaking the intent. His kiss may have been sweet and gentle, but he’d claimed me for his own, dared me to find someone else who could make me hum the way he did.

  I moved my mouth against his, desperate, even though I’d basically told him to go be with another woman. My body made a liar out of me, and I didn’t care that he knew.

  Daniel peeled his lips off mine, and my neck elongated toward him despite myself. He simpered, and I quickly sobered, wrinkling my nose. Damn, he was a powerful drug.

  I shoved at him with both hands and started down the sidewalk. Distance was what I needed.

  He didn’t stop me.

  7

  Daniel

  Present

  I worked from home. I’d never needed an office since most of what I did was off the radar. I also liked being at the apartment, close to Vivian. Having her near settled me when I spent much of my time frustrated with work.

  I tossed the papers I was attempting to go through on my desk and sagged into the chair, pissed off I was still thinking in those terms. I spun and looked out the window without really seeing. There was little greenery, just the concrete jungle buzzing with life. Vivian loved to sit on the floor and watch for hours as people went about their daily routines. Her absence was painfully acute, but I needed to focus. Work and doing right by Vivian were the only things keeping me moving.

  Information. That was the primary commodity I dealt in. The collectibles and rarities like the Cézanne were secondary, a sideline with the man who was like a father to me. I didn’t have to stay in that business, but if I were perfectly honest with myself, I did it because I wanted to stay close to Donato. I owed him my life. There wasn’t a day that went by I didn’t think of that.

  Donato would probably be surprised to learn that, because I was the one who kept things professional between us. He knew nothing of my personal life, at least not from me. I kept Vivian and Muriella away from the Salvatores because I didn’t want them involved. And it worked both ways. Vivian and Muriella knew practically nothing of Donato. There had been moments I’d experienced guilt at keeping the most important people in my life in two separate corners, but I didn’t take risks when it came to my family. Donato had never betrayed me, but I hadn’t reached the full level of trust with him that I had with the women in my life, though I’d known him the longest. At the end of the day, I wasn’t his blood, though I didn’t put any stock in that any fucking way.

  I glanced at the watch on my left wrist. It was nearly four in the afternoon. Vivian would be home soon. I’d taken a serious risk coming back to the apartment while she still occupied it, but I’d needed some of my files.

  And I’d wanted to be close to her.

  The last four nights without her had been pure hell. I’d barely slept, and when I did, I was plagued with nightmares of my mother and father. When I’d reached out for Vivian and only found a cold spot where she should have been, it fueled my anger. If my father had been a different man, I never would have had Vivian or Muriella in my life. If he’d been a different man, I wouldn’t be forced to give them up.

  I couldn’t win. Somehow, he always fucking did.

  I didn’t have time for a game of Blame Daddy For The Shitty Stuff, so I packed up my laptop and made for the front door. Each day I came by, the more difficult it was to leave. Once Vivian was gone, it would be nearly impossible to come back.

  Ensuring I left no trace of my presence, I locked up the apartment and took the elevator to the underground garage.

  The doors opened and I charged out, nearly running over the doorman.

  “Mr. Elliott, my apologies.”

  “None necessary. I was in a hurry, Paul.”

  The elevator made a horrid continuous blast of the alarm when I blocked the doors from closing. Paul’s face twisted in displeasure, mirroring mine.

  “It’s either in or out with this thing.” I held open the door for Paul, who stepped inside. “Please thank your wife for the cookies the other day,” I said over the noise.

  I heard him say, “Will do,” as the doors slid shut and the alarm mercifully ceased. I crossed the concrete floor and climbed into my black Maserati GranTurismo, cranking the ignition. “Vasoline” by Stone Temple Pilots blared. I picked up my phone to turn it off, and I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Instead, like a glutton for punishment, I checked the tracking app for Vivian’s whereabouts. Where the hell is she going? I didn’t like the direction the blue dot on the screen was headed. Unable to stand it, I wheeled out of the garage. I had to see her for myself, make sure she wasn’t getting into trouble.

  Part of me had hoped Vivian would crumble from our breakup. I didn’t want her to suffer, but selfishly, I wanted her to need me. She never had, so that I thought she’d start now was purely wishful thinking. The other part of me felt this intense pride in the woman. Instead of holing up at home for a week, she’d been spending her days at the women and children’s shelter that meant so much to her. Hell, it did to me too. If it weren’t for Paths of Purpose, I’d never have met her.

  When I caught up to her on Avenue D, I hated the slump to her shoulders, the downcast set of her mouth, the drag of her feet as she walked. I bore the responsibility for taking away some of her spark, and I had to strongly fight the urge to fix it. Doing the right thing by her shouldn’t feel this wrong.

  Let her go. I continued moving forward at the same pace she did. This was torture—so close, yet so far away. Now that I’d seen her, I needed to touch her, but that was one desire that would go unmet. I was reduced to this—stalking her, as she’d playfully accused me of doing when we’d first met. It had been true then, and I couldn’t stop myself now.

  I knew where she was going, but for the life of me I couldn’t guess why. I wanted to flex my hand, tell Vivian she didn’t belong here. Hell, I wanted to forbid her to be in this neighborhood. I could exhort until I was blue in the face, but that didn’t mean she’d listen. As frustrating as that was, it was one of the things I loved most about her. She was her own woman and not afraid to put me in my place. God, I missed her.

  My phone chimed with a reminder that I had a meeting with a client’s daughter as a favor. Damn it, I had to go. I took one last glance at Vivian before I went in the opposite direction. Why was I driving away from her for something inconsequential? Especially when there’d come a day when I couldn’t see her at will. It’s what I had to do, or I’d fuck everything up for her.

  * * *

  Inside Cipriani, I spotted Giselle Larsen at the bar and was pleased she was here first. My tardiness had been intentional. She was the type of woman who waited on no one, but she would wait for me.

  “Giselle,” I said smoothly.

  Her back straightened and her eyes lit when she saw me. She got to her stiletto-clad feet. “Daniel,” she rasped, her arms going around my neck for a greeting that was far too personal for how well we knew one another.

  Though I’d known Giselle from the time she was born, I’d only actually met her a handful of times. Her father was the ruler of a farm equipment manufacturing empire and had been a friend of mine for over twenty years. He relied on me to get information about his competition. I’d forged a alliances between him and people in Washington who could easily be persuaded to craft favorable tax incentives, loans, and legislation. Because of my connections, Alan Larsen hadn’t paid for a single parcel of land. Politicians loved taking credit for creating j
obs. We scratched their backs, they scratched ours.

  Giselle had recently turned twenty-one. She had a budding modeling career, one that had started with her as the poster girl for Larsen Equipment. What red-blooded male wouldn’t want to buy a tractor this woman was selling? I hadn’t seen her since I’d been invited to her fourteenth birthday party. Wasn’t really my bag to go to that sort of thing, but business was business. I pissed enough people off on a regular basis; I wasn’t going to do it over something as trivial as a birthday party.

  She had certainly grown up since then. I recalled her being the life of the party when she was fourteen, and I got the sense that hadn’t changed. As an only child left motherless at an early age, she was the axis of her father’s world. Smart, beautiful, confident, and daddy’s little girl—it was a lethal combination, and she knew it.

  Her phone call had caught me off guard, and she’d been evasive about the reason to meet, but this was Alan’s daughter. I’d oblige her.

  The bartender took my order of a whiskey neat and set it down in front of me. He served Giselle another glass of champagne, lingering until I shot him a look to get lost.

  “So what can I do for you?” I asked when we were alone.

  She grinned, making her appear younger, more her age. “Daddy said you’d be straight to the point.”

  That seemed to delight her. I took a sip of my drink and lifted one brow, effectively communicating for her to grow up. She wasn’t deterred. She leaned in, her floral scent invading my nostrils. I fought not to back away. It was the wrong flower. The wrong woman. For a moment I wondered what the hell I was doing there. I didn’t need any more money. There was nothing this girl had that I wanted.

  Damn it, Vivian. Since I’d met her, she’d been the distraction that never went away. She demanded my attention, rearranged my way of thinking. She’d taught me to put another person first, showed me I was capable of that when I thought I wasn’t. Which was exactly why I’d had to force her away.

  “Daniel?” Giselle asked, brow creased, sliding a manicured index finger down my forearm.

  I flashed a placating smile at the same time I fired a warning look. “You didn’t answer the question.”

  She shifted closer. “It’s been a long time. Let’s catch up a bit before business.”

  The blood-red nail drew a lazy circle on top of my hand. Inwardly, I cringed. On the outside, I pretended I didn’t feel it. “This isn’t a social call.”

  Her smile broadened as she swatted my arm. “Oh, come on. The last time we saw one another, I was fourteen. I’m all grown up now.” Her eyes darkened as they roved my body. No mistaking what she was getting at.

  “So you are.”

  Her bottom lip poked out, that pout just not doing it for me. When her hand moved to my thigh, it took all my self-restraint not to knock it away. I stiffened, my muscle flexing under her hand. Giselle’s eyes sparked, misinterpreting the move as progress.

  “I thought you’d be pleased by my call.”

  I stifled a growl. I had zero desire to deal with a child and her games, but I’d let her play a while.

  “I’m sure you did,” I muttered, taking a swig of my drink.

  “Of all my daddy’s friends, I’ve always found you the most interesting.” My patience was waning, especially with her invasion of my personal space. Her nail tracing a pattern on my thigh felt like a knife blade.

  Christ almighty. I clutched my tumbler so tight, I nearly cracked it.

  “Mr. Elliott, your table is ready,” the host said, an interruption for which I was grateful. I used the walk across the restaurant to focus on the task at hand, like how to stop her from touching me again.

  We settled into our chairs at a table near the back of the restaurant, away from the other patrons. It was too late for the lunch crowd and too early for the dinner rush. The perfect time for relative privacy.

  Our waiter promptly filled our glasses with bottled water, and I ordered an appetizer of imported mozzarella before dismissing him.

  “Why don’t all men know how to take charge?” Giselle fingered the rim of her champagne glass.

  “Because not all men are meant to be in control.”

  “And women?” she prompted.

  Whether this was a trap or she was genuinely interested in my opinion, I didn’t care. I’d had enough. I leaned back in my seat, toying with the napkin on the table. “Women hold all the cards.” Giselle sucked in a sharp breath, my admission unexpected. “Now tell me why you called. I don’t think it was to relive your fourteenth birthday party.”

  Her nose wrinkled, the first hint of indecision in her eyes before they steeled. “Elan Dupas.” I didn’t miss the disdain in her voice. “Ever heard of him?”

  “I know of him,” I returned vaguely, sipping my whiskey.

  She waited on me to elaborate, but I was far too skilled at this game. It didn’t take her long to start talking again. “He has, for all intents and purposes, blackballed me in the industry. I can’t get a job. If I can get anyone to speak to me, they disappear before we seal a deal. It’s like he’s stalking me, putting a stop to any potential contract I may have. I want to change that. I want to bury him,” she finished vindictively. She had gotten that streak from her father. I’d helped him put a number of his enemies out of business.

  Elan Dupas was one of the higher ups at an international modeling agency, known for scouting the best talent and being a general pain in the ass. He was the man to be aligned with if a model wanted contracts with the prestigious fashion houses. I knew him, our paths having crossed on numerous occasions over the years. I also knew the owner of the agency he worked for quite well. He was fond of my work. I found out shit that nobody else knew. Donato said not even God knew the things I did most of the time.

  “Why has Elan put a target on your back?” If she didn’t give me a straight answer, I’d be forced to lose my tact. Giselle was the exact type Elan would want in his portfolio. Something had gone down, or he’d be salivating over her.

  “I dumped his son,” she replied bluntly.

  Jesus Christ. I was in the middle of a teenage drama. “I take it that it wasn’t amicable.” I struggled to hold on to what remaining patience I had left, hoping to find more in my glass of whiskey. I hadn’t intended to have another, but I was re-thinking that.

  “He made fun of my family’s business. Called me the tractor queen. So I left him.” She straightened and tossed the remaining champagne down her throat.

  There had to be more to it than that. “If you want my help, you have to be completely honest. I don’t think you met, went out, then he made fun of you, and you left him.” Truthfully, I didn’t give a shit what had happened, but I wasn’t going to piss off Elan Dupas for no good reason.

  The waiter brought our appetizer, and we ordered another round of drinks. I was going to need it.

  “Fine,” she said once he’d disappeared, letting out a huff of annoyance. “We were together for ten months.”

  “Where did you meet?”

  “At a party here in the city. We both go to Parsons.” Her eyes had gone soft, the slightest trace of a smile on her lips. “We hit it off right away, were inseparable practically from the second we met,” she said wistfully, the flirtatious vixen she’d been earlier nowhere to be seen.

  “So everything was fine between you and Scott for ten months?”

  Her lips parted, a slight gasp escaping. That’s right, sweetheart. I know my shit. Giselle’s surprise that I knew her boyfriend’s name turned into satisfaction, as if she’d confirmed I was the right person to help her.

  “Yes. Perfect, really. Until I got paired with a guy in my fashion design course for a project. It’s a small class and a huge project. Scott hated that I was spending so much time working on it, especially with another guy. He’d have been fine if it had been a girl. So, anyway—” Giselle waved dismissively. “My apartment is a lot bigger than Henri’s, so we worked there. Scott came in as I tripped over a bolt o
f fabric and fell on top of Henri. It was totally innocent, though it looked really bad.”

  Our drinks arrived, and I dismissed the waiter. I wanted to hear the rest of this story before we ordered, though I had already pieced together what had happened.

  “Go on,” I prompted.

  “Scott was hurt, I could tell, and I didn’t blame him for that, but he called me a tractor queen and left before I had the chance to explain. Not only was it an accident, but Henri is gay. Like, just-got-married-to-another-man gay. I showed him the pictures of Henri and his husband. Then I told him to go to hell, and I’ve refused to speak to him since. I can’t be with a man who doesn’t trust me.” Giselle twisted the stem of her glass between her fingers, her face sullen.

  “Has he tried to contact you?”

  “Not in a few days. He kept leaving messages and texts apologizing, but he hurt me.”

  Shit. Her eyes glassed over with tears. I couldn’t take a crying woman. Not right now. I simply wasn’t equipped to handle it. “Do you love him?” As soon as I asked the question, I was tempted to feel my crotch and make sure my dick was still there. Vivian had softened me, but not to the point where I went around discussing feelings. What the hell was I going to say when she answered me?

  “Yes,” she whispered, a tear escaping down her cheek.

  My gut twisted. What was happening to me? This compassion had to stem from the shit that had gone down with Vivian. It was her I was seeing across from me, not Giselle.

  To Giselle’s credit, she dabbed the corners of her eyes and pulled herself together quickly.